


Feeling So Good (that it hurts my skin)

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Incest, M/M, Pining, Shimadacest, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11078781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Genji stayed with the family for his own reasons. And they have nothing to do with Hanzo, or high-grade imported American dope.





	Feeling So Good (that it hurts my skin)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Shipmada for the Shimadacest exchange. The prompt was brothers in the yakuza AU with pining...I may have...strayed ever so slightly.
> 
> There is explicit drug use in this, description of needles and pretty frank discussion of herion.
> 
> Title is from Mike Doughty's "Rising Sign"

"Why do they let you do this?" Hanzo asks. His arms are crossed, sitting at Father's desk.

Only it's his desk now. It has been for a long time. It's not like Genji could forget. But the connotation of thinking of it as Hanzo's desk sits wrong. Lodges in a place Genji doesn't like to think about.

Hanzo's hands move and Genji watches his knuckles, the even lines of them. Right. Hanzo was saying something. They were talking.

It doesn't matter whose desk it is. Not really anyway.

Genji shrugs because it feels better than asking what to the question he no longer remembers. The motion probably looks smoother than it feels. He's always hyper aware of his body in the few minutes before a hit. When his body wants it wants it wants it and lets him know anyway that it can. He's not addicted, that's ridiculous, but he likes the way it makes him feel.

The way it distracts him.

He swallows when Hanzo doesn't say anything. Leans forward in the chair to brace his hands on his knees.

"Sorry," he says. "What did you say?"

Hanzo shakes his head. He's cut his hair recently. The style brings out the grey at his temples, those early signs of aging. Hanzo is only in his thirties, he shouldn't be allowed to go around looking like an old man. The frown doesn't help. Judgmental, judgmental.

They both have their vices.

Genji's just happens to be bought and paid for by the family.

The baggie is sitting on the desk.

"Sorry," Genji says again, grinning because he knows it rankles Hanzo's strict sense of duty. "But can I go or are we actually talking about this?"

Hanzo sighs. He pushes the bag forward with the back of his pen. Not deigning to touch it. Genji has no such qualms. He grips the baggie between his fingers, lets it rest against his palm.

"Do what you want," Hanzo says. "It isn't my problem."

It isn't, he's not wrong.

It's not really Genji's either. It's the compromise the Elders came to, something to bring him to heel. They bring it to him and he doesn't go out looking for trouble.

He does what they ask and they provide him with imported American dope.

Win, win.

Except for Hanzo's disapproval. But that's a scab that can be picked at later, mulled over in the come down when Genji's limbs are itching and spinning and tight. The point is to make him not think about it, for a little bit, at least.

Hanzo is no longer looking at him, he's reading through the papers on his desk. The pen flashes as he scribbles his signature across some document or other.

Genji has been dismissed.

He takes the baggie and he goes.

\--

He only started because of Hanzo, though he won't ever tell his brother that. The weight of the blame would be unfair. But it is Hanzo's fault.

Just as much as it's Genji's at least.

He presses he needle into the crook of his elbow. He's gonna need to switch sides soon. The skin where he pushes the needle is tight like rubber pulled over something too large for it.

A condom on a monster cock. On Hanzo's giant dick.

Genji laughs, shrilly. Out of place as he shoots up.

God, it's fucked up. He's so fucked up. The inside of his elbow burns in complaint as he delivers he drug to his bloodstream. The pain is warm and familiar and what Genji can deal with.

It's the thoughts of Hanzo's cock he can't quite cope with. It's the thinking about it at all, the wanting, the longing, that drives Genji back to the needle over and over.

Hanzo is his brother. It is sin. It is wrong.

But Genji has wanted him for years. Dry-mouthed, open-eyed longing.

The heroin fills the void nicely. Takes the place of the relationship Genji won't ask for, cannot ask for because he is a coward.

Genji takes a breath, a shaking inhale as his muscles come back to themselves. High as fuck feels like home. He relaxes into the couch in his suite. He feels warm and he feels good.

The guilt associated with his thoughts of Hanzo fades and he is left with only the warmth curling in his stomach. Something better and deeper than arousal.

Genji closes his eyes.

Genji drifts.

A quiet rush, a good high. The Elders brought some good shit this time. Genji will have to remember to tell them that.

\--

There is a hand on his forehead.

Genji twists, as his eyes flutter open. He must have fallen asleep. He looks up at the person touching him, blinks the world into focus.

Hanzo.

It only ever is Hanzo.

He's holding a glass of water.

This isn't why Genji does it; but it helps. Cyclical. He hates that he loves these indulgences, he shoots up more to numb them away and ends up back at the beginning again.

His fingers ache. Curled up like hooks. He relaxes them, forcibly. They tingle, distantly Genji realizes he hasn't taken the strap off his arm. He sits there, thinking about it. He takes the glass when Hanzo offers it forward wordlessly.

It's too cold. He flinches, then drinks more because he knows he needs it. His teeth sing, sharp, stinging complaints.

He passes the cup back.

Hanzo stands there and watches him. Hanzo does not leave.

"You're bleeding," Hanzo says. He touches his own arm. Genji mirrors the motion. The injection site is bleeding, slowly, an afterthought. When Genji presses his fingers against it the skin seems to shrivel and itch.

Bugs in his blood, beneath the flesh.

He pushes the thought away.

It's not his. Intrusive and cruel, shivering through his brain.

"I'll be fine," he says.

"Genji." Hanzo so rarely uses this tone outside of this room. Soft, hurt little sulk of it.

Genji holds his hands out and Hanzo takes them in one of his. He helps Genji to his feet.

The room spins. Tilts. Some part of the dope still working it's way through Genji's system. His legs itch, nagging annoyance down his shins. He sags against Hanzo, can't help but grin when Hanzo doesn't complain about the extra burden.

Genji leans his forehead against Hanzo's shoulder.

This is the part he shouldn't allow, shouldn't indulge. This is the danger. The reason Genji keeps fucking taking the shit. There is still enough in him that he doesn't feel completely bad about sliding his thigh between Hanzo's knees. Hanzo's soft cock against his hip.

Genji doesn't feel bad about it yet.

And Hanzo doesn't seem to realize it's anything but an accident. He puts his free hand under Genji's arms, stands him up straighter.

"You're getting too thin," Hanzo says. There is nothing offhand about his statement.

Genji knows what it means.

He shakes his head. "You're just fat, big brother."

"I am worried."

He never says things like this when they are in his office, at Father's desk. He never says things like this in front of the Elders or other people or anything. And Genji greedily sops up every whispered little ounce of affection.

It stings. It rips. Worse than the warmth of the heroin in his blood, worse than the itch it leaves behind. Hanzo's quiet kindness, Hanzo's care, Hanzo's disappointment. It makes Genji feel good, feel awful, feel sick.

"I just...need another hit," Genji says against Hanzo's neck, mostly to himself. "And then I'll be fine."

He won't be.

He isn't.

It's not even lying to himself any more.

Hanzo sighs. "Let's get you to bed," Hanzo says.

There for Genji when no one else is. And Genji can't ruin that. He can't. He can't. Even if he is every time he shoots up. It's more passive somehow, bearable. Hanzo won't leave him when he's so pitiful like this, unable to even walk himself to bed. Too high and uncoordinated to move his limbs in shapes and angles that will help.

Genji's arm drags down Hanzo's torso. His knuckles grazing Hanzo's belt. And his brother just moves his hips away and doesn't berate him.

Like a safety net, that's the heroin.

For his unacceptable behavior.

For his unacceptable thoughts.

And the good, good way they make him feel.

Hanzo lays the empty glass on Genji's nightstand. Both his hands on Genji's body as he helps lower Genji to the bed.

"Okay," Hanzo says. His fingers press down hard against the ribs like he's counting them. "Okay." He says again.

Asking maybe.

Is this okay? Are you okay? Are we?

Genji holds Hanzo's wrist. He can feel the pulse jumping just below Hanzo's thumb, alive. Alive. He's alive. They're both alive.

And Genji loves him.

And that's okay. It's terrible. But it's okay.

"My shit," Genji says, "I left in the...on the table."

The strap has come loose. It hangs from his arm. Hanzo stares at it, at Genji. There is nothing to distract from it.

"Do you need it?"

Genji nods, looks away. He can't do his arm again, doesn't want to risk an abscess or infection. He moves his legs. He's done it there a few times. The angle is hard to get though, right at the artery inside the thigh.

Hanzo touches his chin. Hanzo's fingers are cool like ice and Genji thinks maybe Hanzo will say no, will fight him on this. But Hanzo just sighs after a moment of studying Genji's face.

He goes.

He comes back.

Carrying the syringe. The baggie. He doesn't bring the gum wrapper, but Genji isn't completely surprised. It would look like trash to Hanzo.

Genji sits up. He digs in his nightstand for a lighter and another stick of gum. Bingo on the gum. No luck on the lighter though. Frustrated, he rolls to the other side, shifts through that drawer as well.

It's the fucking problem with being a junkie, honestly, keeping track of all his shit.

"What are you looking for?" Hanzo asks. "You are breathing very fast."

Is he? He hadn't noticed. Genji pulls a deep breath into his lungs. For show mostly. On the exhale he says: "Lighter."

Hanzo points. It's there under the baggie, already handed to him. Fuck. Maybe he's too high for this. Maybe it's a bad idea. He doesn't really know how much time has passed since that first trip. Could be too little. Could be flirting with an overdose.

But fuck it. Hanzo's concern is making his skin prickle, hurting him more than an overdose ever could. It feels too good and he needs it to stop before he does something irredeemable. Unforgivable.

Sin.

Genji blinks, shakes his head. Fuck. Fuck, he's still high. He licks his lips. Just a small hit then, to take the edge off.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hanzo asks. Hovering.

"No." The obvious answer, if Hanzo wants it. Genji swallows, unfolds the aluminum sheet, molding it with his fingers into the shape he wants. "You want some? We can be not okay together."

Hanzo doesn't smile at Genji's poor attempt at kidding. He shakes his head. "I'm all right."

But he isn't leaving.

And Genji reads into that no matter how much he tries not to. "You wanna watch me do it, big brother?" he asks. Grinning.

Hanzo takes a slow breath. His eyes are blown wide, Genji had not noticed until now. Hanzo's pupils wide enough to drown in.

"If you will permit me," Hanzo says.

It's intimate, more than Genji should allow. But he wants it. God, he wants it.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay?"

"You can stay." Genji licks his lips. Tugs the strap off his arm to lay it beside the lighter and the foil. "You can't be weird about it though."

"Is there a way not to be?"

Probably not. Too intimate for brothers. Genji has never let anyone watch him shoot up before. It's a private shame. He closes his eyes as he shakes his head.

His fingers work the drawstring on his sweatpants. Shucking them off his hips.

Hanzo watches from the corner of his eye, red-faced as he pretends to stare at the wall.

"I'm still dressed," Genji says. "You don't need to mind my modesty."

He's wearing boxers still. His dick is covered. Not that they'll do him much good if he pops a hard on but it's less likely while he's still skirting the last high. He pushes the hem of his right leg up, tucks the material in on itself so his upper inner thigh is exposed.

He ties the tourniquet off. Quick, tight motions. His skin around the band goes white from the pressure.

Hanzo is watching him again. With nothing like pity or joy or anger. His face is blank.

"You don't have to do this," Genji says. "I'll be fine, you can go."

"You don't have to do this," Hanzo replies.

Genji shrugs. He doesn't and he does. He's weak. It is how it is.

Hanzo crosses to him, sits at the edge of the bed. Almost close enough to touch. Genji's flesh crawls at the thought. He wants it; to be touched, to be loved by Hanzo. The hollows of his skin ache for it.

Genji looks away from his brother. He taps the powder into the gum wrapper. Just a pinch. Hardly enough to get him fucked up again. Probably.

Every dose varies.

And his tolerance has been getting higher. Genji tries not to think about what that means. The consequences of it. He flicks the lighter on, moves it under the wrapper.

Hanzo's eyes never leave him.

Not once.

Genji tilts the heroin into the syringe, tightens the strap around his thigh a second time.

And Hanzo watches.

Leaning closer.

Watching.

"Does it scare you," Genji asks.

Hanzo glances up to his face. His pupils are still so wide, swallowing the deep brown of his iris.

"You used to hate needles," Hanzo says. "You'd cry and scream every time we had a visit from the doctor."

"I remember. I was young."

"You're still young."

Genji doesn't know what to say to that. He's twenty-nine. He doesn't feel young anymore. He hasn't for a long time. He holds the needle towards Hanzo, syringe out, another offer.

An intimacy he should not share. That he only really does because he assumes Hanzo will refuse him.

"Here, big brother," he says. He licks his lips. Grins with only the corners of his mouth. "I'll show you how brave I've become."

How brave. How brave. What bullshit. Brave would be to clamber into Hanzo's lap, would be to press his lips against Hanzo's and take what has been plaguing him for months. Brave would be to open his mouth and have a fucking conversation about the weird dynamic between them. Brave would be to allow himself to love.

But Genji is not brave.

So when Hanzo takes the syringe from him, it's a shock. Hanzo's fingers shake a little, as he holds it. He scoots closer. Swallows audibly.

"You'll have to show me," Hanzo says. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Genji pinches at the skin of his thigh. Drums the skin. The veins are blue and winding like rivers, like webs. Fate. Tangling the two of them.

"Are you sure you need this?" Hanzo asks. His fingers, intrusive, touch Genji's knee. Cool against the sensitive skin. Jittering.

Hanzo has bugs too perhaps.

A different sort than Genji's though.

Genji's guides Hanzo's hand; the one with the needle, bringing it against one of the veins, turning Hanzo's wrist so the syringe follows the line of his leg.

He tongues the edge of his teeth. Hanzo's face is so close to his, brows indrawn, thinking. Watching his junkie brother with clear concern.

"Yeah," he says, "I need this."

He helps to stick the needle into his own skin. The flesh puckers around the needle. They get the vein on the first try, which is impressive. Genji's thigh twitches, his breath stutters. The back of Hanzo's hand brushes Genji's cock within the confines of his boxers.

"Like this," Hanzo asks. His eyes scanning over Genji's face.

Genji nods, bites his lip. He doesn't shift around the way his body begs to; the needle is too deep to fall out easily, but it is better not to test it.

"It's perfect," Genji says. "Hurts a little but..."

"I would imagine it always hurts a little," Hanzo says, mildly.

"Like sex," Genji says with a laugh. Hoping to fluster Hanzo, to tease the way they used to when they were kids. He wants to see Hanzo blush and stutter.

Instead Hanzo tips his head. He squeezes the skin of Genji's thigh. He pushes his thumb against the depressor and the instant, warm flood of heroin tears through Genji's bloodstream like fire.

"Oh shit," he mutters, falling back into the pillows. Arching lazily toward Hanzo's body.

Hanzo's hand on his cock again. The palm, purposeful. Feeling him through the satin of his boxers. Groping at him. The dual sensations race through him; Genji groans, huffs.

"How long has it been since you even had sex, little brother," Hanzo asks. Like he isn't jerking Genji off while asking. Like this is perfectly normal for the two of them.

Genji doesn't know. Doesn't remember. "While ago," he grunts, tipping his head back, shuddering. His cock isn't reacting to Hanzo's touch, it's still soft in his clothes. Hanzo's cold fingers, ice cubes, slide up and under the hem. Touch him skin to skin.

"This shit uses-uses the same," Genji cannot think of the words. The high hits him, tweaks the same pleasure centers that orgasm would, riding quick through the high he wasn't quite over. "Hanzo," Genji groans.

Reaching for him.

But he can't quite seem to reach him.

Hanzo's brows are furrowed again as he tugs on Genji's dick. Genji can look down his body and see it. The lump of Hanzo's hands within his boxers, the foreign landscape of it. Knuckles, lifting the fabric.

His cock is twitching in Hanzo's hand. Hanzo makes a face, looks up at Genji. Those grey temples, the dash of them. Genji reaches for him again and this time Hanzo leans into the touch, kisses Genji's palm.

"Are you coming already?" he asks.

Genji might be. Some sort of soft orgasm. It doesn't feel like anything. Hanzo his touching him, it's so wrong, it's so fucking sick.

And it doesn't feel like anything.

The guilt does not exist.

Genji shudders, drags Hanzo to him by the face, by those horrible greying hairs. He kisses him, the move is neither practiced nor graceful. Genji's teeth catch. Hanzo grunts in pain. But he kisses back.

And that's, really, all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com
> 
> Come see me, say hi, see what commissions and requests I'm up to!


End file.
